


More

by truejaku (hereonourstreet)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder, DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Birthday, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereonourstreet/pseuds/truejaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mizuki knows it's cliche and rote to be depressed about getting older - almost as cliche and rote as getting older in Midorijima. Really short Mizuki fic for his birthday focusing on his relationships with Koujaku, Aoba, Ren, and Noiz. Includes romantic Mizuki/Noiz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More

            There are twenty-seven shots laid out neatly on Mizuki’s bar. He smirks, raises his eyebrows and points at them.

            “I’m not doing those.”

            Koujaku tilts his head forward in disappointment.

            “I had to do them on _my_ birthday.”

            “No you didn’t, asshole!” Mizuki shouts, turning the light in the tattoo parlor off and pulling the curtain closed. “You did _two_ of them and then ‘knocked the rest over.’”

            “ _That_ wasn’t my fault. Noiz shoved me.”

            “He didn’t,” Mizuki says flatly, striding across the room and taking a seat next to his friend. “You just know you can blame him and people will believe you.”

            Koujaku shrugs and turns back to the shots.

            “He shouldn’t mess with me so much if he doesn’t want me to take advantage of it,” he says, his lips pressing together as he tries to suppress a smile. “Anyway, just do one at least. With me. Your best friend. Before anyone else gets here.”

            Mizuki sighs and rolls his eyes. He swings to face the bar and picks up a shot glass. Koujaku _is_ his best friend. He looks at the liquid and swills it around. He’d probably drink castor oil for Koujaku.

            “What is it?” he asks.

            “Vodka.”

            “Ugh,” he groans. “Can’t we just drink sake or something?”

            “You’ve gotten old,” Koujaku grins. Mizuki puts his head in his hand.

            “Don’t say that,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to get old. I can’t believe I’m twenty-seven.”

            “You know I’m joking,” Koujaku says. “I’m older than you. If you’re old, I’m old.”

            “You _are_ old,” Mizuki snaps. Koujaku raises his eyebrows in offense.

            “You sound like your beansprout.”

            Mizuki whines as he puts his shot down, folds his hands together on the bar and rests his chin on them. Noiz is only twenty years old. Mizuki hardly remembers being twenty. He knows he had more energy then: he and Koujaku would spend entire weekends drunk, waking up with hangovers each morning wondering if they’d ever feel normal again and proceeding to drink more. He’d stay out all night and wake up early in someone else’s bed – sometimes someone else’s territory and greet the day with a black eye, a broken hand, and a big grin, being able to say, “ _Yeah, well, I won.”_

He was more hopeful. Life in Midorijima didn’t allow for much, but he didn’t feel completely helpless. He thought he’d travel, he thought he’d see everything and meet everyone, he thought he’d fall in love a hundred times over and find a new way to fix his broken heart every time. That didn’t happen. Instead, he formed a Rib gang and all he has to show for it is a dressing around his throat he can’t bring himself to take off. Instead, he’s having his twenty-seventh birthday celebration at Black Needle, the same place he’s always had it. The same place he works at every day, and the same place he drinks at every night. Most of his life went into Black Needle and he loves it with every fiber of his being, but there are moments like this where he despises everything about it – every mundane, rote little thing about it.

            “Will you change my bandage?” he asks suddenly, peeking up at Koujaku. His friend perks up, turns to him and looks at him sadly.

            “Sure,” he says. “Once you do a shot.”

            Mizuki sits up and frowns. Koujaku nods at him, picks up a shot of his own, and points at the one in front of Mizuki. Mizuki takes it again with a sigh and narrows his eyes at him.

            “Cheers?”

            “To you,” Koujaku smiles. Mizuki shakes his head in annoyed embarrassment and clinks his glass to Koujaku’s, brings it to his lips, and knocks it back.

            “That’s water,” he says, swallowing the clear liquid easily. He slams it on the bar and stares at Koujaku, baffled.

            “I know,” Koujaku shrugs, taking their glasses and lining them up neatly at the end of the bar. “I knew you weren’t going to do all of them. I didn’t want to waste alcohol.”

            “Koujaku!” Mizuki shouts. “You’re a dumbass!”

            “You just got out of the _hospital_ , Mizuki!” Koujaku says with false concern, turning to Mizuki and putting his hand against his own chest. “That’s – wow, that’s _really_ irresponsible of you, taking shots of vodka like that.”

            “I’m going to fucking kill you,” Mizuki growls, jumping off his stool and pulling Koujaku off his by the collar of his kimono. He drags him toward the bathroom.

            “Then who will change your bandage?!” he cries.

 

 

            The first thing Aoba does when he steps into the crowded bar is wrinkle his nose and grab Ren’s arm. Mizuki rolls his eyes at his snotty friend but approaches him anyway, grabbing three beer bottles before he makes his way across the crowd.

            “Here,” he says, before Aoba’s even noticed that he’s in front of him. He thrusts the beer bottle at him. Aoba turns to him in surprise and his eyes widen.

            “Mizuki!” he says cheerfully, leaning forward and throwing his arms around Mizuki’s shoulders in a big hug. Mizuki can’t help but smile and pat his back, the beer bottles still clenched precariously between his fingers. “Happy birthday!”

            “Thanks,” he says, blushing slightly as Aoba extracts himself from him and Ren turns to open his arms, too. “Oh, another hug. Okay.”

            “Happy birthday, Mizuki,” Ren says, wrapping him up in an even bigger embrace, his arms massive and all encompassing. Aoba gets hugs like this every day. That must be nice.

            “Thanks, Ren,” he smiles. The bigger boy pulls away and the three stand idly for a few seconds before Mizuki pulls the beer bottles up again.

            “I’m not drinking,” Aoba says. Ren looks at him with concern and then nods at Mizuki.

            “You never drink,” Mizuki mutters. “It’s my _birthday_.”

            Ren reaches out and takes a beer, so immediately tipping it to his lips and taking a large swig that Mizuki hardly registers it’s missing from his hand. Ren shrugs at them, and Aoba scowls before he takes the other bottle.

            “Fine,” he grumbles, also taking a quick sip. “You better take responsibility if I get drunk and _chatty_ tonight.”

            Mizuki grins. Aoba will apparently never forget the time Mizuki called him a talkative drunk, but Mizuki doesn’t mind.

            “I’d rather you be chatty than quiet,” he says, taking a drink of his own beer. “You’re my friend. I like to hear what you have to say.”

            “Me too,” Ren says, placing a hand on his lower back. Aoba flushes and frowns, pulling his shoulders up to try to hide his face.

            “Shut up.”

            “Of course,” Mizuki says, putting his hands on their shoulders and turning them to the bar, “since it’s _my_ birthday, we can all go talk about how great _I_ am.”

            He leads them toward the bar, where Koujaku sits with Kou and Hagime, already several drinks ahead and red-faced when he sees Aoba and Ren approach.

            “Fine, but you have to do a shot with me first,” Aoba grins.

            “You guys are such fuckers,” Mizuki mutters as Koujaku gets the shot glasses ready.

 

 

            “I was wondering when you were gonna show up.”

            Noiz looks like a deer caught in the headlights. His head shoots up from his Coil, which he has out against the wall of the alley. He turns the screen off and gives Mizuki a knowing grin. Mizuki walks to him, resting his shoulder against the wall and looking him in the eye. They’re alone in the alley so Mizuki grabs the bottom of his tie and starts to roll it up in his fingers.

            “I was getting your present ready,” Noiz says throatily. He watches Mizuki from under his bangs. Mizuki looks up in surprise.

            “What’s my present?”

            “Me,” he says dumbly. “I was getting ready.”

            “Is that why you look so nice?” Mizuki asks, letting go of his black tie and running his hands down the charcoal button-up. Noiz nods and then leans in to capture Mizuki’s lip in a slow kiss.

            “You’re drunk,” he says, pulling away with a small smile. Mizuki shakes his head.

            “I just taste like alcohol,” he tells him. “You should see Koujaku. He’s wasted.”

            “Perfect,” Noiz smirks. “This sounds more like _my_ birthday.”

            “Don’t fuck with him,” Mizuki warns. Noiz frowns.

            “Why not?”

            “Because it’s my _birthday_ ,” he says, pulling him so close that their chests touch. He lets his left leg drag behind him, his toe scraping against the gravel, scuffing his shoe. “You’re supposed to fuck with _me_.”

            “Mm,” Noiz smiles. “That’s a very different kind of fucking.”

            “You’ll tire yourself out.”

            “I’m not the one turning twenty-seven today.”

            Mizuki frowns. This again. Remembering that it’s his birthday isn’t so bad, but remembering the _number_ is frustrating. He pulls away with a sigh.

            “What’s wrong?” Noiz asks, stepping towards him. “What’d I do?”

            “Nothing,” Mizuki rolls his eyes back. “I just hate remembering how old I am. I’m twenty-seven. I thought I’d be – better than this by now.”

            “Better than what?”

            Mizuki shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Maybe he is drunk.

            “You know,” he shrugs. “Just – more.”

            “Hm,” Noiz hums. He nods slowly but remains silent and Mizuki gives up. Noiz is too young to feel the same kind of ennui Mizuki knows. This alleyway is too depressing right now. He’d rather just leave and have Noiz fuck his brains out.

            “Let’s just go home,” he says. “I wa – ”

            “You’re more,” Noiz says suddenly. Mizuki raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re more than you were just a year ago.”

            A year ago, Mizuki was terrified daily of losing his Rib team. A year ago, Mizuki was so dependent on Dry Juice that he was about to resort to _anything_ to keep them from leaving. A year ago was still better than now though, because a year ago was before Mizuki _really_ fucked up.

            “Yeah, but – ”

            “It seems like you’re _way_ more than you were a few years ago, too.”

            A few years ago, Mizuki was nobody. A few years ago, Mizuki was determined to make a name for himself in Rib, and founded Dry Juice. Several years ago, Mizuki was _angry_. He was so angry that he thought he’d never be happy. He’d relented to his anger.

            Mizuki stares at Noiz’s eyes. Black Needle is fairly dark, even during the day; the alleyway is always dingy and dirty. Noiz’s eyes are bright. A lot of things exhaust Mizuki. Noiz’s eyes do the opposite.

            “ _I’m_ more,” Noiz says. “Ever since I met you. And I bet everyone in Dry Juice is, too. I bet everyone who works at Black Needle is. I bet all your friends are, too. Just because they met you. They’re more. You made them more. You made _me_ more.”

            Mizuki’s mouth hangs open in amazement for a moment. Noiz can be a real dumbass most of the time, but somehow he manages to pick the exact words that Mizuki needs to hear out of thin air. Mizuki is in awe. Mizuki shakes his head.

            Mizuki rolls his eyes.

            “You’re too fucking romantic.”

            “I know,” Noiz says, wrapping his arms around Mizuki’s waist and pulling him in for another kiss. “Happy birthday.”

            “Thanks,” Mizuki mutters. “Can we go inside now?”

            “I thought you wanted to go home.”

            “Nah,” Mizuki shrugs. “I guess this place isn’t so fucking bad.”

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i turned 26 last november and the only thing that made me feel better was realizing that i was now the same age as Mizuki; it's actually the only thing that makes me feel better when i'm down about it now too. next year i'll have to rely on Koujaku. anyway, happy birthday Mizuki you are literally my life and i love you you're not real but i'm going to keep talking like you are,


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